


Game Evening

by RecordRewind



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 12:41:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RecordRewind/pseuds/RecordRewind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back in Kimia, Chromedome is working too much and Rewind thinks it's time to take drastic counter-measures</p>
            </blockquote>





	Game Evening

**Author's Note:**

> (short Tumblr request, written and posted there some months ago, for Londonprophecy. Settled before "Bullets")

*Hey, where are you?*

Chromedome flinched at the question on his private comm-line and raised his head, pulling his visor away from the half-melted body laying on the slab in front of him. It was so charred the medics had to place a bright orange marker around the point his brain module port were supposed to be, so Chromedome could see where to plug in.

*I'm...* He checked his internal log. Great. He didn't notice the full cycle past his shift passing by. *...about to take a break?* he concluded.

*Yes, you are. See you in the Exit Rooms.*

The mnemosurgeon glanced at the body with some longing. It was the last one of the mechs involved in the ship-crash, one of three total casualties. He had already injected the two survivors, one of them still in stasis-lock, and the two other less fortunate bots currently occupying other slabs in the Autopsy Room. He had gathered enough evidence to confirm the engineers's theory that it had been a sabotage and even shred some light on how it had happen, thanks to one mech noticing a couple of interesting details that he filed away as not important but that immediately caught Chromedome's exercised attention. This last one could have something more to reveal, though. Maybe he could give him a quick poking...

*Chromedome? Out of there. Now.*

The Autobot groaned. How did he do that?

\--

When Chromedome entered the Exit Rooms, Kimia's excuse for a recreational area, he found Rewind sitting together with Brainstorm, Ironfist, and some of the other scientists and experts who were stationed at the facility. He grabbed a cube from the distributor and a straw and joined them. Noticing him coming closer Swerve raised his own cube.

"It's barely lukewarm!" he complained loudly. "We were talking about it, this place needs a real bar. Have I ever told you me and my old pal Blurr had this plan to open a bar, back on Cybertron, when he retired from the races..."

"Yes, Swerve, you told me already. Four times, on the last count." Chromedome replied as he sat down.

"Well, it would be great to have a bar here, anyway. Don't you agree, Ironfist? Rewind?"

The weapons designer mumbled something vaguely affirmative, while Rewind said nothing and just went on giving Chromedome The Glare, as he had since the other walked in. Swerve finally took notice. His optics went from the archivist to the mnemosurgeon.

"What's up with you, guys?" he asked, bemused.

"Rewind thinks I'm working too much," Chromedome said, looking apologetically at the archivist. He took a sip of his energon.

"Well, you do." "Well, you don't." Ironfist and Brainstorm spoke at the same time. Ironfist glared at the engineer, who shrugged.

"You all work too hard, around here. And that's why I'm saying we need a bar."

"So you can stop working at all?" Ironfist teased Swerve.

The Autobots resumed their chatting while Chromedome peeked at Rewind, who now seemed focused on his own drink. He sighed inwardly. Why did he keep making him promises he wasn't able to mantain? He couldn't even fully justify himself by saying he was only doing his duty. Fatigue had already brought him to the point memories from different mechs he injected had started overlapping, once... he could have made some irreparable mistake.

He was searching his databases for something to say, when suddenly Rewind's visor brightened up and he exclaimed "You know what? We should have gaming sessions here!"

That got the attention of everybody at the table.

"We could have what?"

"Games! We all need something to help us unwire from work, and what's better than some gaming?" Rewind replied cheerfully. "I have the rules and schematics of over two hundred and fifty Cybertronian games, we could even organize tournaments, if we convince enough people to join us.”

"Mmh, that might be not so bad, after all. I always like the idea of a competition," Brainstorm mused, a dangerous gleam into his optics.

"...or maybe we could try some collaborative games. Like... role-playing. Ironfist, remember the project I've talked you about a while ago, the game based on Fisitron's Declassified? Wars & Wreckers?"

"Yeah..."

"You could be the Wreck Master, and create adventures for us to play!"

"That... could be fun...!" Ironfist sounded suddenly interested.

"That's decided, then! And I have a load of other games we can try. Iaconopoly, Colons of Charr... We could start tonight!" As he spoke he turned to stare meaningfully at Chromedome, who had started feeling the ground slipping under his feet since the word "game" had been pronounced.

"But..."

Before he could start vocalizing an objection, his private comm-line was suddenly filled by what sounded like the lamentations of some agonizing creature with more mouths than it could do good to it. And it was in rhyme.

*...what is this...?*

*Azgoth poetry, from Kria. I have recordings of the last three centuries of literary achievements from that planet. If you call yourself out of game evenings, listening to this will replace all our private activities together from now till the day Brainstorm will publicly recognize Perceptor's intellectual superiority.*

*You wouldn't.*

*Try me. And let me stress it: ALL our private activities.*

Chromedome capitulated. His half-vocalized "ok" got lost among the growing enthusiasm. Atomizer, Mainframe and Skyfall had joined the discussion about which games to pick first, everybody seemed to have a favorite the others had absolutely to try. Rewind scooted closer to pat his arm, not even bothering to hide his satisfaction. 

“So you finally managed to involve the whole facility in keeping me from working.” As much as he tried Chromedome couldn't keep the warmth he felt into his spark away from his voice.

“From overworking yourself, there's a slight, but important difference. And come on, it will be fun!”

“Watching Brainstorm trying to turn his Game of Dynametal Duck pieces into unconventional weapons? How could that not be fun?”

Rewind giggled.

**Author's Note:**

> (well, Vogon poetry is only the third worst poetry in the galaxy, after all…)


End file.
